Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” he said before I even got a chance to finish my words. He took a step closer to me. “I’d love to take you out.”
I didn’t get the fireworks I’d expected in my soul. But I got a happy bloom, and I supposed that was enough.
“Good.” I put my hands in my pockets, just for something to do.
“Good.” He smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bonn.”
I changed into my pajamas in the bathroom then lay on the small sofa bed that my mama had put in my room when I moved in. I stared at the ceiling when sleep didn’t find me. I willed my brain to turn off, because I didn’t want to feel anymore. But it betrayed me. It didn’t help me by allowing my body to rest, my limbs too heavy and aching. Instead it showed me this evening like a show reel. From the start to the finish.
When it ended, I found myself starved of breath. But I forced a deep inhale and refused to give in. I had fought for so long, never giving up. I was fighting still.
I wouldn’t give up now.
As my eyes grew heavy, I failed to get rid of the image of Kacey in Cromwell’s bed, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
I stared at my hand, the one that had touched him earlier. And it quickly lost its shine. It seemed as though Cromwell would let anyone touch him but me.
And, I hated to admit to myself, that hurt.
* * *
“Bonnie.” Professor Lewis blew out a slow breath.
I met his gaze straight on. “I can’t…” I shook my head, feeling the palpitations like thumps in my chest. I rubbed at my sternum. “Professor Lewis, I understand your position about dropping partners. I do. But working with Cromwell…” I sighed. “Frankly, it’s been the most trying academic thing I’ve ever done.”
Lewis studied my face. “Ms. Farraday—”
“Have you checked your emails today?” I glanced at the clock; it read eight thirty. I’d met Professor Lewis as he was unlocking his office ten minutes ago. I knew he probably hadn’t.
He frowned. “Why would that matter?”
“Please.” I swallowed the nerves that were beginning to rise. “There’ll be something from the dean.”
Professor Lewis kept the confused look on his face as he switched on his computer and read the email from the dean. I knew he had received it because I saw his face drop in sympathy—it was why I didn’t tell anyone.
He opened his mouth to speak. I beat him to it. “Working with Cromwell causes me more stress than I can cope with.” I gave him a smile. “I love your class, Professor. It’s my favorite.” He smiled back at that. But I hated the new way he was looking at me. Like I was damaged. Like I was a fragile doll that might break apart at any minute.
I looked around the office, at the pictures on his wall. At the painting of swirls of bright colors hanging above his desk. It reminded me of one of Easton’s pieces. I stayed staring at the picture but said, “I want to create music.” I huffed a laugh. “In all honesty, I’m not that good at it.”
“You’re a lyricist,” Professor Lewis said. He pointed at my file. “I read it.”
“I am.” I took in a breath, feeling my cheeks heat. That was something else I didn’t share. My love of words. Words that attached themselves to music until their meaning was only heard through song.
“I’m determined, Professor. To finish your class.” I sat straighter in my chair, hoping it would give me the confidence I was lacking at that moment.
“I plan to submit my composition at the end of the year with everyone else.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said encouragingly. It fueled the spark that forever sat within me and helped fill me with hope.
“But I can’t do that with Cromwell Dean.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I know you trusted me to help him. To push him to work for this assignment…but…”
“No need for further explanations, Ms. Farraday. I am fully aware of Cromwell’s attitude.” He scribbled something in my file then sat back in his seat. “Very well. It’s done.” He rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin. “Are you okay working alone?”
“I’m better that way.” I shrugged. “Years of practice have been forced on me.”
“Then, Ms. Farraday, I look forward to hearing how your composition progresses.”
A heaviness I didn’t know I carried lifted from my shoulders as Lewis granted me permission to break from Cromwell. It was quickly replaced by great fear. Fear that I would never be able to produce anything like Cromwell had played for me last night. But it didn’t matter. The main victory was that I was free of him.
I ignored the dull underlying ache that simmered underneath the strong sense of relief. I got up, seeing that class was about to begin.